Kaleidocide

by Dave Swavely

  The little boy nodded, and Angelee ushered him back out of the room. I showed them out, locked the door, and returned to my chair. And I saw my face on the screen, looking at me with interest, because I had been too distracted to turn it off. It didn’t seem like Angelee or Chris had noticed the double, fortunately, but he had seen them clear as day.

  “Very nice,” Jon said with one of my eyebrows raised. “Maybe you understand my polyamory better than you’re letting on.”

  I was about to tell him that this was another willing woman that I had managed to resist, which proved that I was in fact not like him, but then I realized that the theory of opportunity he had put forth regarding me being married also applied to the situation with Angelee. I had tried to tell myself that her use of the word “special” and the thought of Lynn’s pregnancy had enabled me to heroically stop what was developing the night before, but the truth was that it probably would have gone further were it not for the headache that she got. So opportunity really was the only difference between Jon and me in these two circumstances—he had it, and I didn’t. I didn’t tell him all this, of course—it was bad enough that he saw Angelee and knew that she was here with me. But I couldn’t really argue with his point, so I resorted to the old standby method that had served me so well with Lynn, and changed the subject.

  I told him that if he wanted his reward to remain intact, he would dim the lights slightly in the room, use its net access to call Tara, and say exactly what I told him to. I couldn’t call Tara myself because she, being a security manager, might be alerted to my location, or even recognize her own house codes, and realize where I was. I also couldn’t tell her about the double at this point, because she might freak out that she slept with a stranger, and ironically even become worried about the possibility of AIMS.

  So I transferred my link to Jon’s implant, and rode with him as he told Tara that what happened in the apartment at the castle was a huge mistake and would never happen again. I/he told her that she had to fulfill our bargain to put her résumé out and find another job, and she seemed to be okay with the idea. I was starting to feel good about myself again, and Jon was feeling confident that he could speak for me effectively, when the conversation took a bad turn.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Tara said, “but I’m also wondering if you might be a little confused right now, since we had such a great time yesterday.”

  “I’m not confused, Tara,” the double said at my prompting, but then added his own improvisation, which was quite good: “Yesterday was just a mistake.”

  “So you say,” she replied, “and it’s up to you. But just in case, tonight I’m going to go to a place that has a lot of memories for us, and I’ll be there if you want to come over. I’ll be at my vineyard cottage in the Valley.”

  “That’s up to you, Tara,” the double said on his own initiative, not knowing that I was hiding there. “But I won’t be coming.” While he said that last line, I realized what was happening and shouted “No, wait!” Jon reacted by saying “What?” and unconsciously putting a hand to his ear.

  “I said I’ll be at the cottage tonight,” Tara said with a puzzled look. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Oh, I’m getting a report from an agent in my earpiece,” Jon said, reverting to our former plan for covering such problems—even though he wasn’t actually wearing an earpiece. “Hold on a second.”

  Now he intentionally put a hand to his ear and gave me his attention. I had to think hard because I didn’t want Tara to come to the cottage, but I also didn’t want Jon to know where I was. So I ended up telling him to tell her that she shouldn’t go to the cottage tonight or any other night, that this was another part of her promotion deal, and that she had to sell the property so she wouldn’t have any reason to come back to the area. I even told her that BASS would purchase it from her for a higher price, because I had some ideas about how it could be used. Fortunately she didn’t press this issue, but unfortunately she said something else that was even worse.

  “If you insist,” she said. “But if we’re really done, and if I’m really going to leave BASS, I think your wife should know about our little rendezvous at the castle yesterday.”

  Jon was silent, not knowing what I wanted him to say; I was silent also, not knowing what to say. I had never thought Tara capable of blackmail, because she had been so discreet through the years and so devoted to me personally. But then I realized that nothing she could really use had happened between us until yesterday, and she had never been fully rejected until now. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” I thought. I shouldn’t be so surprised.

  “If you say anything about yesterday to anyone, our deal is off.” Jon mouthed the words that I put into his head. “You will be fired without severance or recommendation, and this great opportunity I’m giving you will be gone forever.”

  One of the good things about the totalitarian nature of BASS was that I could say and do something like this without any fear of a lawsuit or other recriminations, except the usual criticisms from the media, which had no effect on what we did. And Tara knew this well, so she dropped the issue for now. But I also knew that threats and cover-ups seldom solved problems like this, so as the call ended I mumbled a prayer to whatever God might be out there, which was becoming more customary for me to do in situations like this that were clearly out of my control. I hoped to heaven for insight about what to do about the real possibility that Lynn would find out that I had left the door open with Tara for so long, and I hoped to hell that she hadn’t contracted AIMS, which would make the whole situation much more complicated.

  With these heavy things and some others on my mind, my next call was to a twisted technological version of the netherworld. I called up Saul’s ghost again, putting on my glasses and running through the security routine to gain access to the Fortress Cloud where it resided. Soon the almost-real holo of the man’s old head, with the gray hair and the lightning scar on his cheek, appeared again in my view.

  “Hello, Michael,” it said.

  “I have some questions for you,” I said, not interested in extended greetings because I was still frustrated from being stymied by its elusive programming.

  “Good,” it said, already flashing the famous grin. “As Socrates said, ‘Understanding a question is half an answer.’”

  “You seem to know more about religion than anyone else I can talk to right now, and a surprising number of issues related to it have been coming up.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised at that, Michael. I don’t know everything about religion, or even as much as I wanted to learn before I died, but I am sure of one thing: Everyone is religious in a way, and everything in life is religious, if by that word we mean what we worship or are devoted to. Everyone has something or someone that they adore, love, or consider of ultimate importance in making their life worth living. And even in those who don’t want to live, it’s because the things they worship have been denied to them, so they would rather die than live without them.”

  This made me think of Jon and how we found him in the Exit website, so I started my questions with one related to him.

  “Don’t some religious people dispute the idea that we’re born with a sexual preference, and that we can’t change it?”

  “If you’ve decided that you’re gay, Michael, that would be a surprise to me.”

  “No, I’m actually thinking about polyamory, and it’s someone else I’ve been talking to.” This was a half-truth, of course, because I was also wondering about myself.

  “Even in the LGBT and PPB communities,” the ghost pontificated, “there are some different opinions about those issues, although the majority of people there and in the public at large think that it is all genetics. Especially with all the press given to Ravi Valda, and how his testimony and research supposedly proved that his cross-species attraction was inherent to his nature. If it looks likely, or even possible, that the besties are born that way, then why would anyone question t
he more common lifestyles? But to answer your question about the polys, I’ll give you my opinion, which I think is based on observation and revelation.”

  “Revelation?”

  “From God, Michael, like in the Christian scriptures.”

  “You don’t think all that stuff is true, do you?”

  “I don’t know if it’s all true,” the ghost said. “And the fact is that I never was a very good Christian—nothing like my wife was. But I do think Jesus is the best thing that ever happened to this planet, and there’s something different about that book from other books.”

  “So what does it say about my friend’s problem?”

  “Again, I’m not sure I know that much. But something like this: Even if he is born with it, like other problems we have, he doesn’t have to give in to it or stay that way. If there is a God, that God could give him the power to resist temptation and even change his desires. Probably would be a lot of work, though, if it is possible, because God helps those who help themselves. And it seems to me it would have to start with him realizing that it is not the way we were originally designed, but a result of everything in the world going bad, including him. So it would be his fault, not God’s, even if he was born that way, and he would need to take responsibility for it. Unfortunately, most people don’t realize this until after they’ve suffered severe consequences from their sins.

  “I don’t think it’s that different from a parent who gets angry and violent toward his kids when they piss him off. Knowing whether he was born that way, or played too many zombie holo games when he was younger, or whatever, doesn’t really matter as much as knowing that his thinking and behavior are wrong and need to change. Jesus said that even lust is enough to send us to hell, so without God’s mercy I’d be burning big time right now.” The ghost grinned again, and I found it so odd that Saul’s posthumous construct was talking about an afterlife that Saul himself might be enjoying or enduring right now.

  “I can see how abusing your children is a sin,” I said, “but who you sleep with, by mutual consent—that can’t be a matter of right and wrong.”

  “Oh, really, Michael?” the ghost said, the unrealistic glitch causing it to use my name too many times. “How has it worked out for your friend?” When I didn’t answer, it went on: “What would it do to our dear Lynn, and the new daughter you told me about, if you decided you were a poly and shot your wad all over the city streets?” As if it could see my brow knit at this, it explained. “An expression like that is used in the book of Proverbs, believe it or not, chapter five. And that passage also reminds me of something else that your friend would need: a good woman who will love him and help him through it all.”

  “Did you talk with your wife about this kind of stuff?” I asked, thinking about how Lynn might find out about Tara. “You know, confess to her?”

  “If I had to,” the ghost said, then seemed to read my mind. “Better that she hear it from me, than from someone else. It was very difficult, yes, but it also gave her the opportunity to learn to forgive.”

  Speaking of difficulty, I was now feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, so I changed the subject again. I wanted to ask about Terrey’s idea of practicing the Chinese ban lan ritual as a way to ensure my protection, and would end up being surprised and puzzled by the answer.

  38

  DESTINY

  “Do you think there could actually be supernatural power in the color rituals that Zhang Sun practices?” I asked the ghost. “The ones he uses for the kaleidocide?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to say that, because I would think that because of your traditionalism…” Then I realized my mistake in using second-person pronoun, and corrected it. “That Saul would not have been syncretistic or inclusive, when it came to religion.”

  “I’m not,” it said, insisting on using first-person pronouns, despite my not-so-subtle objections. “But I believe there are other spiritual forces in the world, working toward their own goals.”

  “Evil spirits, you mean.”

  “Yes, Michael.” This was getting even weirder.

  “Some uneducated, third-world people would think that you are a disembodied spirit, if they met you. We even call you a ghost. But despite the way it might look, you’re a perfectly explainable physical phenomenon, when we know how you work.”

  “Yes, Michael. But that only proves some things are misjudged as supernatural. It doesn’t prove that all of them are.”

  “So Terrey says that in case the ban lan spirits are real,” I explained, “we should do the rituals to get their help, and offset the power of what Sun is doing.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” the ghost answered, “because I’d be worried about upsetting a higher power.”

  “Look, old man,” I said, frustrated enough to break my own rules of reference, “if there is a higher power, why doesn’t he just wipe out the other ones? This isn’t making sense.”

  “Remember in our last conversation while I was alive, Michael, I told you about Edwards’s definition of free will?” There was that creepy dynamic again, of the ghost’s consciousness of its own death. “The Creator gives the creatures freedom to choose according to their desires, but knows and controls enough to ensure that the results of their choices ultimately work together to fulfill his desires.”

  “Is that what you’ve been doing to me, by jerking me around with all your mysterious talk?” I asked. “Is that what Saul was doing to me, by bringing me to BASS?”

  “We are made in his image,” the ghost said, wearing the enigmatic smile again. “But to learn more about these things, Michael, you should talk to a man named Ian Charles, whom I think you should hire at BASS. I just sent a link for him to your glasses.”

  Maybe talking to that man was the only way I would get the answers I needed, and I was curious about why we might need him on staff. But I wasn’t ready to give up on this conversation yet, because this topic was now in the forefront of my mind.

  “Why does Zhang Sun want me dead?” I asked again, just in case the answer might be different this time.

  “I don’t know, Michael.” The same answer, of course. “But let me tell you some more about Zhang Sun. He is more of a danger to world peace than anyone in recent memory. He took two first names because that practice was common among the ancient emperors of China—”

  “Was Sun a blood relative to General Ho, or any other Chinese soldiers that I killed in Taiwan?”

  “No, Michael,” it said after a pause.

  “Was there some other connection between Sun and Ho, or any of the others I killed?”

  “I don’t know,” it said after a longer pause.

  “Are you lying to me when you say that?”

  “No, Michael. I really don’t know.”

  “Of course, you could be lying to me when you say that, too.”

  “No, Michael. I really don’t know.”

  I restrained my frustration, and thought for a moment.

  “Can I make a call to Stanford Glenn, through your Fortress Cloud, that will be secure? Terrey’s worried that someone will find out where I am.”

  When the ghost said that I could, I asked it to make the call for me and stay on the line with us. Soon the view in my glasses was split, with Saul’s ghost on the one side and a sweating Stan Glenn on the other. I could see that the powerful American leader was alone in a large net gym, and I had interrupted a virtual game of the sport he had starred in when he was younger. Football players used to have to give up the game entirely when their bodies became too old and battered—plus it was almost impossible to get enough players together to make it worthwhile, and the play could never be as exciting as remembered. That was until holo gaming technology progressed to the point that it could reproduce the experience of playing in a big game, while allowing the participant to actually run around in the room and get a workout in the process.

  “Let me guess,” Glenn said as he wiped his face with a to
wel. “You’ve reconsidered my requests, and will be sharing the antigravity technology with us.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “if you have some information that you can share with me.”

  His eyebrows raised. “What are you looking for?”

  “When we talked last, I told you I was having some problems, but you didn’t ask what they were. So I was wondering if you already know about them.”

  “Seems to me you also talked about the dead guy who’s on my screen right now,” Glenn said, and wiped his face again. “But I didn’t ask you where he came from, either.”

  “Speaking of him,” I said, “watch this.” Then I asked Saul’s ghost the same series of questions I had just asked it, and got the same “I don’t know” answers. Then I turned back to Glenn. “This happens every time. It’s programmed to not tell me some things. It may not actually be lying, because the information isn’t able to be accessed by the construct.” I stared at the big black man, wondering how much I could trust him.

  “Stan,” I said, “do you know why Sun is trying to kill me?”

  “No, Michael, I don’t know.”

  “What, are you a construct, too? Do I have to call Reality G to find out if I’m really talking to Stanford Glenn?”

  “No, it’s me,” he laughed. “And now that I know that your life is being threatened, I could send some Deltas or SEALs to guard you, if you want.”

  “No thanks. But if you can find out some information about it for me, I would really appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “If you find out something, you’ll have to call Terrey instead of me. For security purposes.”

  “Okay,” he said, then added, “Terrey who?” I told him, and then said thanks and good-bye.

  “Hang in there, my friend,” were the last words he said to me. “And whatever happens, try to look at the big picture.”

  Saul’s ghost may not have been intentionally lying to me, but I had the distinct feeling that Glenn was. I couldn’t tell for sure, of course, but he definitely did seem to know more than he let on. He even seemed to fall for my gambit of mentioning Terrey, whom he shouldn’t be aware of, before he recovered quickly like the skilled politician that he was. But the “big picture” comment bothered me the most—it made me feel like I was being manipulated, as I had been by both Paul Rabin and his father a year before, though for different purposes.